


Tailor-made

by hookedontaronfics



Category: British Actor RPF, Taron Egerton - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, work fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 16:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21102392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hookedontaronfics/pseuds/hookedontaronfics
Summary: Just some smutty reading for your Sunday morning. I never promised to be a saint. This is just a quick little one shot, so I hope you enjoy the fantasy! x





	Tailor-made

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Pure smut (thigh-riding, unprotected sex - glove it before you love it, kids)

You were staring at bolts of fabric, lost in thought, when your co-worker Siobhan knocked on the storeroom’s door, making you jump slightly.

“Hey, you busy?” she asked, as you set your clipboard down.

“Always busy,” you grinned at her. “These bolts don’t count themselves.”

“Well, Taron Egerton is asking for you to do his fitting again. He always insists it’s you,” she said, shrugging slightly.

“Well in that case,” you smiled, trying to not let your excitement show. “Would you show him into the Crown Room and I’ll be there shortly?” She nodded and disappeared back to the front as you tried to keep your heart from racing. You and Taron weren’t exactly dating, but you both tried to see each other off and on and it was always a passionate and fun weekend when you managed to hook up.

You went over to the computer and pulled up the information on his current suit commission, one his stylist Gareth had had a hand in designing; a white suit with pinstripes but the shirt color choice had been left blank. You tapped your pencil against your lips for a second, flipping through your mental palette as you walked to the racks of collared shirts. You landed on a silky denim number, thinking bold would be a good choice, but just in case you also grabbed a merlot red and forest green shirt too. You draped those carefully over your arm before locating the suit, still wrapped in its plastic, and carried all of that with you to the Crown Room.

You knocked and then opened the door to the fitting room, closing it behind you quickly. Taron had been scrolling through his phone but looked up and gave you a huge smile when he saw you.

“Heeeey love!” he said brightly, pulling you into a hug as you carefully held your arm out, trying to keep the suit from getting wrinkled and also getting lost in that embrace for a moment. “I’ve missed you,” he said, as his gaze lowered to your lips and lingered there.

“I’ve missed you too but you’ve decided to be exceptionally busy lately. That’s not my fault,” you teased cheekily.

“Today is no exception, I’m afraid,” he sighed. “This was just a quick stop of many.”

“Then we’ll just have to make each second count,” you replied, pulling the tape measure from around your neck. “Blazer off,” you said, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t you know I love it when you take charge,” he smirked as you hung the suit and shirts on the hooks carefully, smoothing your fingers over the fabrics and imagining how his firm chest would feel beneath them.

“I’m sure you do,” you laughed softly. You had to stop your brain from thinking that way, though, or this fitting was going to go to a place it never should. 

You quickly and expertly took his measurements, though they rarely changed much. He was always quite fit even when he insisted he wasn’t, complaining about how often his publicist told him to cut out his fried chicken, pizza and beer habit. Your fingers whisked the tape around his biceps, chest, neck and waist, something you barely thought about doing now as you’d been measuring clients for years. You were nothing if not practiced and professional, that is until Taron placed a finger under your chin and tilted your face up to his. You realized how close you both were standing, and the undeniable tension between you filled the room.

He leaned in slightly, his breath hot against your face as he looked at you with that question lingering in his eyes. You closed the distance to him and kissed him first, wrapping your arms around his neck as you felt his expression first of surprise and then as he melted into your kiss, his soft full lips pressing hungrily against your own. He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth to grant him permission, your tongues meeting each other and deepening the kiss.

And then you both realized what you were doing, where you were at, and broke apart, panting slightly and staring at each other, the unbridled thirst for each other apparent on your faces. “I… don’t want to get you fired,” he stammered slightly, running his fingers over his face.

“But the little Do Not Disturb light is on,” you smirked lightly before gesturing to his chest. “Shirt off,” you demanded, as he made a slightly strangled noise in his throat, but you had your back turned, aware of how great your ass looked in the skirt you’d worn to work that day. Just because you had to look professional didn’t mean you couldn’t still look good doing it, and when you flicked your eyes up to his reflection in the mirror, you could see him staring even as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it in the chair in the corner.

You handed him one of the shirts, hoping you’d remembered his size properly, and watched as he slid the denim silk over his biceps and then started buttoning it up painstakingly slowly, or at least it felt that way.

“It’s a bit tight, isn’t it?” you said, making him hold his arms out and move them about, frowning as the fabric puckered slightly around the buttons.

“It’s fine love, I can move just fine in it,” he shrugged, reaching for the suit coat and trying that on as well. You walked around him, pulling slightly on the fabric, checking the fit and stretch and making sure it wasn’t pulling at any seams, jotting a couple of quick adjustments down on your paper before finally clearing your throat.

“You should probably try the pants on too,” you said in nearly a whisper, trying to keep your composure. You turned your back to give him privacy but he only chuckled at that.

“You’ve seen me naked plenty, love, there’s no shame here,” he said, sweeping your hair aside and placing a kiss on the skin of your neck that made your legs quake. “Now I do find it odd I’m the only one getting undressed here,” he said in such a lusty way it made you throb uncontrollably between your legs.

“Taaaron,” you whined slightly but you certainly didn’t argue when he hiked your skirt up your hips and pulled you in for another needy kiss. His greedy fingers pushed your panties aside and dipped them into you, making you moan into his mouth, which was for the best because you weren’t sure how sound-proof those fitting room walls were.

“Get these off,” you groaned, fumbling with his belt buckle hurriedly as he continued to kiss you hungrily. You were so turned on it almost hurt; it’d admittedly been a while since you’d both seen each other. You knew this could go bad very quickly, but right at that moment, with his fingers digging into your thighs, you could care less. You managed to pull his tight jeans down to his ankles and then pushed him down on the chair, earning a small grunt from him before you pulled your own panties down, straddled his leg, and settled your dripping cunt over his thigh.

“This is new,” he groaned slightly, his fingers trying to undo the buttons on your blouse, accidentally popping a button off. You heard it pinging across the floor somewhere but in the heat of the moment you couldn’t care less. He trailed his fiery kisses down across your chest and over the tops of your breasts as you slowly shifted your hips over his leg, making his skin slick with your juices and groaning at the friction against your sensitive folds.

“Fu-fuck, baby,” he groaned out loud before you clasped your hands over his mouth.

“Shhhh,” you warned him, your eyes going wide. No one could know what you were doing in here, half-naked and completely turned on. You reached between you and stroked his hard length through his boxer-briefs, and he hissed in pleasure around your hand. “We’ve got to be quiet,” you gasped.

“Not sure I can be with you driving me absolutely wild,” he groaned in a whisper. “Now ride my thigh like the naughty woman you are,” he whispered in your ear, so you wrapped your arms around his neck again and started grinding your hips against those muscles, losing yourself to the waves of pleasure rocking through you. You were dimly aware that he’d pulled his cock out and started stroking it along with your motions, and when he dropped his fingers between your legs and started rubbing your clit, giving you just that extra stimulation, it completely sent you over the edge. You came hard against his thigh, clenching your legs around him and biting his shoulder accidentally in an attempt to keep yourself from screaming out.

He sweetly held you close to him, your semi-clothed breasts pressed against his chest until you stopped shaking. “That was fucking hot,” he said, his reddened, engorged member still painfully obvious between you.

“Want me to take care of that?” you whispered, dropping your eyes down as he shifted slightly beneath you.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said, standing up and letting you slide the rest of the way down his leg, the moan escaping you as your still-sensitive flesh responded. He pulled you over to the mirror and pressed you up against the glass, his body flush against you from behind. “Always fantasized about doing this,” he smirked, lining himself up with you and guiding himself home, pulling your hips back to meet his. You clapped your own hand over your mouth, keening softly as he began pounding into you mercilessly, his lust-filled gaze meeting yours in the mirror. He was still in the shirt and suit coat, and you couldn’t help getting slight “Fifty Shades” vibes from the situation; it was the hottest sex you’d ever had, and soon you were spiraling quickly toward your climax, and from the sounds he was trying to not make, so was Taron.

“You can cum for me, pretty baby,” he grunted, his teeth grazing over your shoulder lightly, and his words drove straight to your core, the orgasm softer than before but still absolutely delicious as you felt his thrusts grow sloppy. He clung to you tightly as he spilled into you, one hand tangled in your hair and the other pressed against the mirror as he panted heavily and tried to keep his legs from collapsing under him.

“Holy...shit,” you said, whining as he slid out of you and looked about for something to use to clean you both up with. Thankfully there was a box of tissues in the corner, and you both attempted to put yourselves right again as if nothing had happened at all. “I’m going to have to wash that mirror top to bottom now,” you said, and Taron threw back his head and laughed at that.

You yanked your skirt down into place and smoothed your hands over the front of it, before trying to locate the missing button on the floor. You’d have to sew it back on and hopefully no one would ask any questions when you left the fitting room.

“We’ve already taken too much time,” you giggled, watching Taron tuck himself back in his briefs and yank his tight jeans back up. He slid the suit coat and shirt off, handing them over to you before retrieving his shirt and blazer again and clearing his throat.

“The denim is definitely the better choice,” he nodded, as if you both hadn’t totally fucked each other senseless just now. “And is dinner later okay? I’m not a fuck and run sort of guy, you know,” he smiled at you, his eyes back to that light-green color you loved on him so much.

“Dinner would be perfect. And maybe a Round 2, if you know what I mean,” you smirked lightly at him.

“You little minx, you,” he chuckled, stealing a couple sweet kisses, making sure one last time he looked put together, and swinging the door open to let you both out. Taron took his leave, acting as he would were you any other assistant, and you walked to the front desk to log your adjustment notes.

“Did you have fun in there?” Siobhan asked, and you suddenly worried she had overheard you, but she sounded as bored as she looked, chewing gum and filing her nails. Who did that at the front desk anyway?

“Uh, yeah, well, Mr. Egerton is always a well-paying client,” you said, your cheeks turning pink but she didn’t notice.

_ Some client indeed. _

“And make sure you wash down those mirrors, they’ve got to be spotless,” your co-worker’s voice broke into your sexy reverie.

“Hmmm, what?” you asked, shaking yourself back to reality.

“For the inspection. I just mentioned it. Have you  _ even _ been listening to a word I’ve said?” she asked, sighing exasperatedly. “Before your 3 p.m. arrives, ahhh, a Mister Egerton?” she said, consulting her checklist. “Could you wash the mirrors please?”

“Yeah, no problem,” you sighed, wishing your daydream could be more than just a fantasy. You hated your job, even more so because Taron would never give you a second glance. You were simply the tailor’s assistant, nothing more, and you could only imagine what lay below those clothes of his he wore so well.

You stood up from the desk to grab the cleaner and paper towels, sighing slightly to yourself. “And y/n, by the way, you were moaning, just to let you know.” You froze in the middle of your step, looking about as wide-eyed as a deer in headlights.

“It was, uhhh, a stomach ache,” you stammered pathetically.

“Sure, if that stomach ache is one Mister Egerton,” she smirked. “Just keep it in your pants, alright?”

You slapped your hand over your face in embarrassment and sighed. This was going to be a long shift indeed.


End file.
